Road Flowers
by Dianne
Summary: Popular sayings have to come about somehow ... 'out of the frying pan, into the fire', 'say it with flowers', 'when a bell chimes an angel gets its wings', we've all heard them, we've all said them, but few have experienced them all in one day...
1. Chapter 1

John Gage's right foot longed to put the pedal to the metal as he drove along the freeway toward Rampart Hospital. He even rehearsed possible excuses for police if he got pulled over should he give in to his right foot's wishes. He assured himself those excuses wouldn't entirely be a lie, he was after all going to the hospital, not that that would in any way be an excuse for speeding; there was no emergency if you didn't count being an hour late for a first date with a hot nurse. Damn brush fires, they paid no heed to the schedules of men.

Oncoming traffic lights interrogated the young paramedic, stabbing into his soot-etched retinas. _Why were you late exactly, Mr. Gage; did you decide to skip out on your date; did you decide you didn't want to spend money on her? _His smoke parched mouth added to the feeling he imagined when he watched the suspects on Adam-12 eye the cool drink of water on the other side of the bare bulb just out of his reach. He swept his hand over his eyes which did nothing to soothe them but instead created surreal trails of red lightning from brake lights that stretched out for miles.

Yep, John's date was bound to be angry. He imagined her slipping out of her white, sensible nursing shoes into a pair of black stilettos, freeing her hair from the prison of that ridiculous white hat to fall softly to her shoulders and slipping into a little black dress. She would wait for five minutes before clicking on her heels angrily out the door and end up in hair rollers and flannel with a pint of ice cream and a bad chick flick behind her before he could explain why he failed to pick her up after her shift was through at this rate.

A flower/cheap sunglasses/tube sock vendor's cart was parked under an overpass. John pulled his Land Rover over and slammed it into park. He leaned to his far right to rifle the dashboard for loose change or bills.

"Ow!"

John righted himself from his leaned position to inspect his right side where his favorite white button-down cotton shirt was currently absorbing a silver dollar sized blood spot.

_Why would victims run from a burning house into a damned cactus field? Had no one heeded the adage of 'out of the frying pan and into the fire'?_

"Great," he muttered, exiting the vehicle to bend his side view mirror down for a better look. The bandage he'd placed on the small cactus wound was either somewhere in his truck where his date would no doubt sit or step on it or had migrated down into his boxers. Neither scenario was good, not that he thought his date might see his boxers tonight … she'd have probably stormed out once she found out that bowling shoes clashed with little black dresses. That's not what he'd tell Chet, however.

John jumped out of his Rover. His side view mirror refused to cooperate to show him the wound. It screeched its rusty discontent at its current position loudly as he failed to stifle a mild cuss of pain. He tried standing on his tiptoes, leaning painfully forward to look straight down at it but to no avail. The wound was just out of his peripheral vision. John un-tucked his shirt more and the old lady vendor gasped as she peered out of her dusty, rounded windshield with withered curiosity mixed with a healthy dose of disgust. Her side window screeched down as if in answer to his rearview mirror and a wrinkled finger wiggled at him from a two inch gap.

"You there, young man, what is wrong with you? There are perfectly good service stations where you can do _that_," the old lady admonished.

"What? Me? No … you have it all wrong, see I wasn't gonna …" John stammered.

As John struggled to tuck his shirt back in a police cruiser pulled in behind his Rover. The old lady got out of her vehicle very sprightly then, snapping back a branch of a scrub tree into her would-be customer's face as she passed him to get to the officer.

"Arrest this man," she demanded. "He was going to pee on the side of the freeway right there in front of me!"

"Wait a minute," John pleaded, licking his split lip from the tree branch to the face. He pivoted, his shirttail catching on the bent side mirror and sending him sprawling to the gravel. The rush of colder air and the ripping of cotton on his back told him things weren't going to improve any time soon.

John heard the distinct tsk tsk from the old lady. The officer's boots kicked up dirt as John let out a long, low sigh which sent puffs of dust up his nose and into his eyes as he lay flat on his stomach.

"Okay, I'm gonna need you get up real slow with your hands over your head," the officer instructed, his duty boots pivoting under John's dirt smudged nose.

John knew better than to argue. Better to stand up and explain, only that proved a little difficult now that the pains from his last rescue made themselves known.

"I wasn't gonna pee, honest, I was just checking this wound, see?" John explained rolling onto his back.

The officer drew his gun and thumbed his radio.

"Whoa! Now wait a minute here, I haven't done anything!"

"L.A. I have a suspect matching the description of the APB on the wounded bank robbery suspect, request back up and an ambulance to exit 400 on Sepulveda."

The gun had most of John Gage's attention but he managed a weak squeak of, "Um, th-this isn't a bullet wound, it's a … a cactus thorn wound. I got 'em all over, see?"

John made to lift his shirt slightly but the sound of the gun cocking made his arms shoot into the air again.

"See, Officer, just like that, he was going to take his pants off!" the old lady moaned, turning around but craning her neck to look back over her shoulder just the same.

"Are you on drugs, son?" the officer unhelpfully asked taking in the tiny punctures up and down the paramedic's arms from cactus thorns and his red-rimmed, smoke irritated eyes.

John wished he was at this point. And that cop was hardly older than he was, who was he to call him son?

"No, sir, you have the wrong person, if you'd just let me explain…"

"I have to tell you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," the officer supplied helpfully.

Images flashed in John's mind as he stood on the majestic steps of the L.A. County Courthouse surrounded by reporters all asking him why he had to pee on the freeway. After two days of no sleep and exhausting brush fires it was almost comical. Almost…

"Okay, here goes, after my shift, I was late for my date so I swung by the bank to get…"

Wrong words.

"I have to stop you until I read you the whole Miranda Act," the officer said as John forgot his prone prisoner stance to swipe his hands through his hair in frustration.

"And you don't look dressed for a date, Sonny Jim so lies won't get you anywhere either," the old lady unhelpfully supplied as John subconsciously searched the ground for her two cents which surely had to transcend the luck barrier and be lucky pennies or something.

"Like I said, I was dealing with fires and…"

"Arson too? Have you no decency?" the wrinkly-apple-faced woman asked indignantly until the officer asked her to please sit in her truck.

"NO! I'm John Gage, fireman-paramedic with L.A. County, station fifty one."

"Get him for impersonating a fireman too!" came the muffled voice of the woman from inside her truck with the windows now rolled down fully.

Sirens wailed in the distance. John chanced a glance up at his wristwatch. He was now an hour and a half late for his date, his shirt was ruined, and he felt a slight trickle of blood tickle down his side to disappear into the waist of his jeans. His normally strong arms shook slightly with exertion from holding them up after such grueling shifts. The slight muscle tremors unnoticed by all but him seemed to be accompanied by a weird drum-like tattoo until John realized that his Rover was now spluttering into death, out of gas as much as he was.

"You should get him for idling too, officer; the air here in L.A. is bad enough without hooligans like this idling for hours." The old lady's voice was almost drowned by the sirens as they loomed ever closer. She added a dramatic cough to make her point.

"You're a … a fireman?" the officer coaxed.

"Yes, and I'm just coming off a shift, a very long shift. I wasn't trying to …" John blushed deeply; "pee, either, I was checking my prick…"

The old lady fainted.

"_Cactus_ prick!" John wailed blushing deeper, and almost getting up to help the passed out old prune to offer his assistance.

"Stay where you are, I'm gonna need to see some I.D."

And here's where the story really fell apart.

"I forgot it back at the station," John explained. "See I never made it to the bank and even if I had it would've been closed so I went through my glove box and found enough money to buy my date some flowers to apologize for my lateness. I was gonna give 'em to her and drive back to the station for my wallet and I.D.

"Driving without a license!" the miraculously awakened old woman yelled in triumph, her finger now able to wave freely at him unlike the feeble attempt from the small space earlier.

When the familiar sirens of a squad followed the ambulance John looked up to give thanks for small miracles … tiny, infinitesimal miracles really but the officers who arrived at the same time waved them off with instructions to wait.

Two plainclothes officers approached the young officer with the gun trained on the suspect. The senior officer's eyes roved to the blood spot on John's left side. He stepped forward and frisked the paramedic who squirmed in discomfort as hands roved tender areas where he'd pulled thorns from earlier.

"Okay, lie on the ground and let the paramedics check you out. I want your hands at your side at all times, is that clear?" the officer instructed.

"Yes sir," John said, humiliation laced in both syllables. But surely this would all be over in a minute or two.

John stayed quiet until Brice's face loomed over him, the gun in the background seemingly not fazing the perfect paramedic in the slightest.

"Hi, Craig," John said casually, a resigned half-grin, half-grimace on his face.

"Gage?" Brice bellowed incredulously.

"You can call me John, I'm off duty and while this is a crisis situation technically, I'm sure it can all be resolved if you'd just tell these guys who I am," John said amicably.

"You know this guy?" the gun-toting officer asked.

"This is fireman-paramedic John Gage with the L.A. County Fire Department," Brice acknowledged much to John's relief until … "What's he done?"

"Brice!"

"BP's a little up, Bob-The-Animal Bellingham offered helpfully as he set up the biophone, shrugging apologetically down at the prone paramedic.

"He was going to pee on the freeway!" the old lady supplied stepping from her pickup only to be told to get back inside by the senior officer.

"Geez I didn't think peein' on the freeway was this big a deal," Bellingham shuddered, wincing at the officer with the gun as if making a mental note to never do that again.

Another cruiser pulled up. A tall, black officer stared down at the non-bank robber, non highway pee-er.

"Johnny?"

"Vince, thank Ga-awd!" Johnny rasped. "Ouch, Brice don't touch my prick!"

This time the old lady didn't faint but sat up straight and put her hand to her ear as if it was a giant ear horn.

"CACTUS PRICK!" John bellowed.

Was Brice grinning? He was.

"Is that or is it not a bullet wound?" the senior officer asked.

"I can assure you it's just his prick," Bellingham chortled.

"Cactus prick," John lamented, rather happy that no one told him to put his hands back down when he covered his eyes for a minute.

"Stand down fellas, this guy's shift just ended, he's not our suspect," Vince instructed. "How you doin' John?"

John heard the hammer of the gun un-cock as it was holstered.

"Man, I'm sorry, but you see how this looked?" the officer said, leaning down to offer John a hand up.

John had to admit, he did see how it looked.

"I'm Drew Burke," the officer said as John took his hand.

"John Gage," John panted as he made to sit up.

"Now just a minute, you can't just get up, your B.P.'s up, you're diaphoretic, you're bleeding…" Brice said sternly.

John grunted as he sat up glaring Brice's stethoscope-laden hand away from him.

"Sixteen, what's the status of your patient?" came Dixie McCall's voice from the biophone.

"Rampart, we have an uncooperative victim at present, will advise you of status as soon as it's established," Bellingham said.

The second police car drove away with its disappointed occupants on the lookout for a dark haired young bank robber with a bullet wound on his right side who'd apparently switched stolen vehicles several times during the chase.

"Look, John, I've gotta go too, why don't let these two check you out and then be on your way?" Vince asked kindly, taking in the paramedic's pale, sweaty features.

"Look, I'm fine, I just hate guns. Anyone would be a little upset after having a gun pointed in your face, being accused of peeing on the freeway, robbing a bank, driving without a license, idling…"

"Well, you _were_ driving without proof of a license," Drew Burke pointed out. "But I think I can give you a warning for that," he added with a slight grin looking to Vince for approval.

Then it all came back to John.

"Why did you pull in after me anyway? I wasn't speeding," John mused, suddenly annoyed all over again.

Bellingham mouthed a new B.P. reading to Brice as John's heart rate increased with the irritation.

"Oh! That … well, I'm new, I get all the assignments no one else wants. I'm here to fine this vendor for operating on the underpass without a permit but of course I'd heard to be on the lookout for a suspected bank robber with a bullet wound in his right side and so naturally I thought…"

"But … but…" the lady stammered.

Now it was John's turn to glare at the old lady who'd taken every opportunity to try to send him to the big house.

"I really do think you should let these guys check you out, Gage, you do look … I don't know paramedic lingo so I'll just use what my wife, Pam always says … peaky. Yeah, peaky, definitely a bit green around the gills."

"Did you get that, Brice? Tell Rampart your patient is peaky, they'll love that, and coming from you, they'll put that word in all the manuals." John groused.

While Brice tried to decide whether he'd been praised or insulted, John got to his feet to watch the exchange between the original 'perp' and the officer.

Officer Drew Burke approached the pickup truck. A tattered pink paper was held out for his inspection from the now rolled up window.

"Your license to operate this stand expired last week," Burke said, crossing his arms over his chest.

John leaned slightly to the left to get a better view just as the perfect paramedic's gloved finger probed the wound in his right side.

"Ow-ouch! What are you doin', Brice? I told you I'm fine!" John said as he hopped on one foot slightly clutching his side. "This is all just one big misunderstanding."

"You have a fever, Johnny boy," Bob-The-Animal-Bellingham told the protesting paramedic while Brice glared at his partner for using familiar first names.

"What? I do not," John snapped as Brice popped a thermometer into his open mouth. More to prove that he did not have fever John left the thermometer where it was and glared at Brice as he read it, his eyes opening in fury as Brice picked up the biophone to report a temperature of one hundred and two point five in a Code I.

"'M'not a Code I, Craig," John said to emphasize that he wasn't on duty yet again.

"Oh, yes, of course, well, uh," the flustered rulebook spluttered searching his mind no doubt for a code for this situation.

"Johnny, I think your prick's infected," The Animal chortled. I think you should let us take you in to Rampart and get it checked it out. You've had one helluva day."

Brice shook his head in annoyance as John grinned with Bellingham.

John declined the trip to Rampart and snatched the antiseptic and cotton from Brice as the annoying man reached for his shirttail. When Brice looked a little insulted John sighed sigh number twenty three that day and tried to make nice.

"I uh, look, I appreciate all you've done, I really do. I'll clean this up, take a couple of aspirins and keep an eye on it, promise, okay?" And with that John went back to watching the lady get her comeuppance.

Drew wrote a ticket and handed it to the old lady who promptly shoved it in her glove box muttering about 'peeing' paramedics and being stepped on by 'the man'. Drew made his way back to Johnny just as he was scrawling his signature across a form on a clipboard before thrusting it back into the bespectacled paramedic's hands.

John looked at his watch. It had stopped. Why wouldn't this day just stop with it?

"Rampart, patient has signed a waiver to refuse treatment at this time. He'll seek treatment from his family doctor if the condition persists," Brice dutifully reported.

"_I'm_ his doctor," John heard Dr. Brackett mutter angrily as Brice signed off.

The empty ambulance pulled away as Bellingham gathered up sixteen's equipment.

Seeing Gage shiver in the rather warm evening air, Brice wasn't prepared to leave quite yet. He lingered, fussing with the equipment longer than Bellingham had ever seen him.

Drew called for a tow truck rather than just an automobile club gas refill. His trained eyes saw impairment of exhaustion in the paramedic's posture as he scrabbled in his dashboard drawing out a few bills. He couldn't let the young man drive.

John made his way to the old lady who had resumed her position in a tattered lawn chair. Her disposition toward him warmed considerably when she discovered that he was about to contribute to her fine-paying fund. Tired, dark eyes scanned the scant variety of slightly past-prime flowers.

"No roses?" he croaked.

"This ain't Rodeo Drive ya know," the lady said, her annoyance returning as she plucked a dozen pink carnations from a plastic bucket of water and fished out a few bills from his hands. The paramedic then climbed into his Rover and placed his head on the steering wheel to await the tow truck.

XXXX

As sixteen had no calls, Bellingham and Brice waited with Drew Burke who now sat filling out paperwork in his patrol car. The tow truck pulled in fifteen minutes later. Drew jumped from behind the wheel, surprised that his former suspect hadn't moved when the flashing yellow lights fell across him over and over again and the reverse gear warning beeps failed to wake him.

The over vigilant Brice made it to the side of the Rover before the other two men. He reached in and felt for a pulse on John's neck.

"Gah! Don't shoot!" John yelled, hands flying up only to crush his fingers into the roof of the Rover and spill the forgotten rubbing alcohol which sat perched in his lap.

"Ouch, damn it, Brice!"

Without thinking, John put his hands to his face only to exclaim in pain when the harsh antiseptic made contact with his already smoke-irritated eyes which started streaming tears, John bolted out of the SUV, cussing loudly but thankfully incoherently. He hobbled around in small, erratic circles on the dusty ground as the tiny cuts in his thighs from the cactus patch were unceremoniously filled with rubbing alcohol which dripped down his legs.

As Brice made to put a hand on the young paramedic's shoulder, Bellingham stopped him. A silent exchange between the two men took place, something Burke could only guess was an argument in favor or not of tackling the further insulted-to-injured paramedic. Bellingham made a face that was clearly a gloat when John stopped, putting his hands out as if in surrender.

"Uh, w-would one 'a you guys mind washin' out my eyes?" John asked meekly, his shoulders sagging impossibly further as he heard the old lady _tsk tsk'_ing again.

"He peed his pants! He peed his pants!" she yelled in obvious triumph pointing at the spilled rubbing alcohol on his jeans.

Officer Drew Burke looked sorely tempted to arrest her but as any law was concerned, schoolyard bullying like this was usually handled by … well, parents or teachers … of children.

"Ma'am, you have two days to pay that fine, in the meantime, I could look around for more infractions …"

The threat hung in the air creating the desired cone of silence around the irritating old bag while Drew made his way to the back of squad sixteen.

John clutched at his knees in obvious concerted effort not to stop Brice from prying his eyelids open while Bellingham gently poured saline into them.

"John I'm not quite sure but I think you have a slight scratch on your eye," Bellingham said, twisting his fellow paramedic's head slightly to the left. "Did you get soot in your eyes out in the brush?"

John looked up at him with a blurred _duh _look on his face. He schooled his features before answering. This was not his fellow-firefighter's fault.

"Yeah, I had 'em washed out twice during the last eight hours, the alcohol just burned a bit because they were already irritated, but I'm fine; honest."

Hair slicked back from the ordeal, John shook his head as much to dry his hair as to clear his thoughts. He blinked a few times trying to conceal a squint.

"Okay … well, uh, thanks … again, really guys," John said sincerely as Bellingham's hand on his shoulder became heavier as he tried to stand up from the bumper. John ducked down further and out from under the restraint and headed for his Rover, wincing with every movement.

John approached his SUV only to stop and gape at the odd angle, its front wheels reared in imagined defiance; its rear wheels perched on the ground ready to run away from him like time had done to him all day.

John slapped his bumper as dirt kicked up when his wheels found purchase from the gravel to the pavement and it took off, rear lights gloating back at him, dancing with the yellow revolving lights like this was some sort of party.

"I just needed some gas," the resigned young man said, pink carnations dangling from his limp arm.

A breeze kicked up and John shivered again, more keenly aware of his dampened hair.

"Come on, John, we'll give you a ride to Rampart, maybe your date waited…" Bellingham coaxed.

"We're not allowed to transport patients in the squad except in extreme emergency situations," Brice said, specific rules no doubt about to spew forth.

"He's not a patient, he signed the waiver," Bellingham said. "Look, we need supplies; we're going there anyway, what's the harm?"

John walked up to Officer Burke, hands in the air. "Arrest me, please, if I have to watch this I'm gonna kill someone anyway," he begged.

"Come on, I'll take you to Rampart. I have some forms to give to the jail ward warden at Rampart anyway," Burke agreed staring incredulously as Brice and Bellingham went back and forth on proper protocol.

John headed to the rear door.

"I think I can let you sit up front," the officer smiled as he opened the door and automatically put his hand on the top of Gage's head as he plopped his pained body into the seat.

"Do you believe those guys?" John asked as the squad fell into place behind Drew's cruiser.

Drew looked in his rearview mirror and shook his head. "Yeah, I work with a couple of guys just like 'em."

John looked at the cruiser's speedometer. He felt it would be churlish to point out that Drew was speeding. They cruised along the freeway, Brice flashing his lights a few times along the way at vehicles matching their pace but it was just a warning seemingly as he didn't pull anyone over. It was amazing how fast the traffic slowed around them once they saw the lights.

Drew grinned into the rearview mirror as both vehicles pulled into Rampart's lot.

"Mr. Brice, do you know how fast you were going back there?" Burke asked striding up to Squad Sixteen making sure his passenger had a good view of the proceedings.

"Uh, uh, no, officer, I was uh, um … following at a safe distance to ensure our patient made it to Rampart without complications…"

"But back there you said he wasn't your patient," Burke said, drawing out his ticket book. I'm going to have to notify your captain…"

"No, please!" Brice begged.

Burke winked at John who could barely contain laughing as he sat watching the exchange. This was a prank worthy of Chet Kelly and that was saying something.

Brice was pink in the face, his glasses slipping on his suddenly sweaty face.

"I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, Brice; I don't think we have to notify your superiors but remember when you're not in a crisis situation, you can't drive that way."

"Thank you, officer, it won't happen again," Brice gulped as Bellingham slapped him playfully on the back.

XXXX

John felt crowded as he searched the E.R. lobby for his date, who as expected was not there. Shivering slightly again he made his way to the men's room to freshen up. He glared at Brice who made to follow him in. The mirror afforded him his first good look at his now eight hour old wound. Angry red lines circled a quarter sized wound which when pressed had him sucking in his breath. Head down, shoulders slumped; John made his way to the E.R. desk reluctantly admitting to himself that he needed to be seen.

"There he is," Brice said unnecessarily as if the next words out of his mouth were going to be _get him!_

Brackett's arms were folded across his chest as he held open the door to treatment room three while Brice wore an I-told-on-you face.

"I was gonna tell 'em," the irritated paramedic shot at Brice.

"Desoto told me you downplay injuries, I made note of that in case I was ever assigned to treat you or work with you," Brice said.

Bellingham nodded sheepishly and for once agreed with his annoying partner.

"Well, they might be irritating but they seem to care," Officer Burke said, gently patting the young paramedic on the shoulder.

"Yeah … anyway, thanks for the lift, it was nice to meet you," John said, holding out his hand to shake.

"It was?" the equally young officer said incredulously.

"Nah, not really," admitted John. "I hate guns!"

"Listen, let me buy you a beer one of these days to make it up to you, I mean chances are we're going to bump into one another from time to time on the job and I want to erase this first impression," Drew suggested.

"That'd be great," the paramedic perked up warily eyeing the gun in Drew's holster. Drew handed him a card and scratched his home phone number on it.

"Take care, Gage, sorry about your date," Burke said as headed out the E.R. doors.

Brackett cleared his throat and John followed him into treatment three feeling pretty confident since for once in a long while he'd walked into the room under his own steam.

Dixie McCall eased John out of his shirt and helped him lie back on the table. She held up the garment and raised her eyebrows questioningly at it as her foot depressed the lid of the garbage bin. He nodded sadly at his favorite shirt in permission for her to discard it.

"I'm afraid the tip of the cactus thorn is still inside the wound, Johnny," Brackett declared poking at John's side with gloved fingers as the paramedic sucked in and held his breath. "It's fairly deep, Dix start an IV with ringers. John I'm going to add some IV antibiotics and give you something to relax your abdominal muscles and help you relax as well as a local to freeze the area."

"Aw, Doc, are you sure you can't just freeze it and get it out so I can get outta here? Ouch!"

"Just a little prick 'cause your prick's infected," Brackett smiled, clearly enjoying his own joke as Dix slid the IV needle in perfectly.

"Bellingham told you everything, didn't he?" John grouched lifting his head as Dixie hooked up the canula and adjusted the flow of the IV and shot several vials of clear liquid into it.

"Actually it was that officer; he was a bit worried you'd suffered some shock from being held at gunpoint," Dixie told her prone patient.

"Roy's got eyes everywhere," John slurred as the medications took affect. "M'not totally irresponsible, I was gonna tell ya, that's why I came to the desk … well, that and to ask if Melanie waited for me. I brought her flowers…"

Brackett shook his head as he gently probed John's wound again and getting no response from his patient, set about probing around for the cactus thorn tip. John made rather slurred small talk with Dixie as she handed Brackett instruments.

"So, uh, Melanie, sh-she went home, huh?"

"Actually, no, she decided to work a double shift when you didn't show up," Dixie told him.

"Far out, I can give her the flowers still," he said, craning his neck to see what had become of the sad little arrangement of carnations and baby's breath.

"Yeah…" Dixie trailed off, glad that her patient's eyes closed and he drifted into in a momentary sleep.

XXXX

Someone nudged his arm.

"Mr. Gage?"

The voice was familiar but wrong somehow. He looked up into his ditched date's face.

"Melanie, am I glad to see you," he said, his throat very dry causing him to cough.

Melanie crossed the room and filled a paper cup with water and handed it to him as she set about taking a set of vitals and peeling back the bandage of John's wound without a word.

"Look, I-I'm really sorry about our date but …" He gestured over his abdomen as if that would clear everything up.

Melanie responded by sticking a thermometer in his mouth.

"You're normal," she announced.

Somehow John wondered why that was such a bad thing but the look on Melanie's face told him nothing short of an actual bullet wound would have excused his failing to show up for their date. He was seeing a side to Melanie that belied her sparkling blonde hair white smile and flirtatious ways that she'd shown only days ago.

"I got you some flowers," John said lamely, pointing with embarrassment to the green plastic jug that held the carnations that Dixie had so kindly put in water.

"Those are road flowers, Gage. You know nothing about women at all; I should have listened to the others. When a guy doesn't show up for a date with _me, _they better have roses in a vase with bows and chocolates that they actually spent some time picking up."

John gaped like a fish as Melanie efficiently did her job. At first he was going to try to plead his case, after all, this was one of his best excuses he'd ever had for not showing up for a date, but something stuck in his mind, the way she'd hissed, _'road flowers.' _He wanted a girl who would be thrilled by his tale of almost getting shot by the cops, almost getting blinded by smoke and rubbing alcohol, saving no less than six people from a fire that day and still showing up with … flowers. For the first time in his life, John said nothing as Melanie left the room still scribbling in his chart.

John tapped his foot on the stirrup at the bottom of the gurney he was on, shaking his head in wonder as to why it was there when clearly he wasn't a female and his examination had nothing to do with anything down … there. _Thank Gawwwd!_ he thought to himself. But for good measure he closed his eyes and went over everything that had happened in the last hour making sure he'd not fallen asleep and added some sort of weird alien probing to his miserable day. At this point nothing would surprise him and he found himself very impatient to be discharged. After all, he was normal, even though Melanie clearly thought that was a bad thing.

XXXX

An hour later John was reclining on the gurney watching the last of his IV drain. Surely Brackett would be in to sign release forms. There would the usual warnings to come back if anything went awry and he'd be free … to borrow money for a cab ride home.

The door opened revealing Dixie with a fresh set of scrubs in her hands. She smiled at her young patient informing him that Brackett had officially released him. Her eyes fell on the unclaimed flowers. She wished she could have found a glass vase for them, there were always a few left around after patient releases but she'd been so busy the best she could do was to put them in water in whatever container was around at the time so they wouldn't further wilt.

Dixie began unhooking the finished IV, saddened that her friend wasn't excitedly regaling her with tales of adventure, almost being shot, blinded, saving people and riding in the front seat of a police cruiser with the very cop who nearly shot him.

"I take it things didn't go well with Melanie?" Dixie asked bending John's arm up to stem the flow of blood while she prepared some gauze and tape.

"You can say that again," the paramedic said quietly.

"Well, she wasn't the one for you, then," Dixie said with conviction.

"Yeah…"

"Listen, there's someone here to see you, Dixie told John, come on out once you're dressed.

John slid into the scrub pants grateful at their bagginess around his tender stomach. Still shrugging into the top, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway almost giddy with being freed and not taking any chances lingering longer. The site that met his eyes stopped his momentary triumph. A gurney stood in the hallway, blood blossomed from the abdomen of the person beneath the sheet and suddenly John knew who was under that sheet though his face was covered. The young bank robber had obviously not sought treatment soon enough. Their paths had crossed again and John swallowed hard knowing that he could easily have been the one beneath the sheet if Drew wasn't trained properly to keep a cool head and assess the situation carefully when making an arrest. John's hand went absently to his own abdomen feeling the gauze over the wound that was starting to awaken from its freezing announce pain that was more keenly felt in the presence of the dead young man.

Drew looked up as his superior officer signed papers and spoke to a very solemn Doctor Brackett.

"Hey, Johnny, you don't look so good man; they released you?"

"Y-yeah. Is that … is it…"

"I'm afraid so. Doc said if he'd turned himself in earlier he could have been saved. I wish things were different. Look you'd better sit down."

John let himself be led to the desk. Drew steered him behind it into Dixie's usual tall chair and poured him a cup of coffee. John closed his eyes and took a sip, savoring the heat that he felt down every inch of his chest.

"So, did your date understand?" Drew asked trying to refocus the paramedic's attention from staring at the gurney.

"Nah, it didn't work out," John said, refusing to go further.

"Aw man, I'm sorry. I wish I could make it up to you. Hey, maybe I can drive you home?"

John was just about to take Drew up on his offer when in walked Roy.

_Urgh!_ thought John. _Someone woke poor Roy up to come get me?_

Roy opened the door to treatment three and peaked in scratching his head in puzzlement at finding it empty. He turned and his eyes widened in horror as he took in the covered body on the gurney which was identically the same size and shape as his partner.

"Hey, Roy, over here," John called quietly past the group of officers and Dr. Brackett still talking in the hall as an orderly removed the dead young bank robber.

Roy's hand briefly lingered over his chest and John could see him take a huge breath of relief. Something warmed his chest besides the coffee.

"You okay, junior?" Roy said, clearly not trusting him to speak the truth as he rounded the corner of Dixie's desk to visually assess him for himself.

"I'm fine, Roy, honest," John told his partner and friend. "Uh, Officer Drew Burke, meet Roy Desoto, my partner at fifty one."

Drew and Roy shook hands as John filled Roy in on what had happened.

"Sorry you got called, Pally, I'm fine, I was just on my way home," John said.

"Dix said you were fine and would just need a lift home but when I saw that gurney and I could see the top of the guy's head, hair same as yours…"

Drew poured Roy a cup of coffee. By now it was nearly seven a.m. and his shift was ending. Dixie and Doctor Brackett joined them in a cup as the new shift began. Everyone was talking excitedly about John's adventure except him. Roy was encouraged when his friend's eyes focused on a new nurse. John watched as she dropped sheets into a laundry bin and carried fresh ones into treatment three. She emerged shortly after with the plastic water jug of flowers. John's eyes closed. He couldn't bear to see the flowers he knew would be thrown unceremoniously into the trash.

Someone nudged John with their elbow. He looked up. The nurse was carefully arranging the carnations into an abandoned glass vase and filling it with water and plumping up the slightly crushed ribbon that was attached to the vase. She removed a card that read, _congratulations it's a boy_ and carried the vase to a room at the far end of the hall. She paused outside the room and pulled a pen from behind her ear and scratched a new note on a piece of paper. She entered the room and stood over an older gentlemen who lie in the bed with his casted leg in a sling. The patient smiled warmly and took the pen from her and scratched something else on the card which the nurse attached to the bow and patted the old man on the leg and left. John turned nonchalantly and the nurse made her way to another room on the other side of the hall.

John's feet carried him to peak through the small window of the other door as the nurse presented a very frail little old woman in the bed with the carnations. The nurse perched glasses onto the wrinkled face from the bedside cabinet. The little old lady gave an audible gasp of delight, her cheeks seeming to pink up instantly.

"You have quite the husband there, Mrs. Timmins," the nurse gushed, checking her watch and announcing that she had to get back to her duties.

John discreetly followed the nurse back to the desk where she popped the pen back behind her ear hissing almost inaudibly in annoyance and pain as it snagged on a strand of her hair. John was glad for her distraction as he turned to join his friends.

XXXX

John approached the desk and smiled warmly. There stood Officer Drew Burke and Roy Desoto doing _his_ job; regaling the eligible young nurses about John's bravery in the face of a gun, saving people and getting injured in the process, not leaving out one detail that he would have told if he weren't so despondent about his missed date. Well, every detail except that he hated guns and probably would have passed out if he weren't so busy explaining that he wasn't who the officer thought he was…

While this warmed John's heart and his friend's thoughtfulness was clearly not missing the mark as three nurses clung to their words and stole appreciative glances in his direction, John's attention was on the nurse who was checking charts and filling medicine orders. She shook her head almost imperceptibly and smiled with a small eye roll for good measure just to confuse the dark haired young main watching her.

John's chin rested on his hand, the light buzzing of his friend's praises making him grin. He sat on Dixie's chair, his elbow slipping just a bit, his eyes closing from sheer exhaustion and the faded release of adrenaline.

"Are you okay?" the very object of his attention asked as she strode passed him pushing a cart.

"Uh, yeah, fine, just a little tired," he admitted before he could stop himself. If he could have kicked himself, he would have. One does not admit anything but vitality to a woman like this.

"Well, you should get some real rest, you look a little beat," she said pushing the cart once more. When she turned around and glanced at him he couldn't help the lopsided grin that adorned his face.

Roy put his arm around his young friend and led him toward the doors. Drew Burke followed.

"I heard about your date. Officer Burke and I got you set up really well with the day shift nurses; you should be able to ask any of 'em out. Forget about Melanie," Roy said kindly.

"Thanks," John said absently, making Roy wonder whether he should march him straight back into the E.R.. After all, John was usually the one full of stories about his adventures, nurses sitting on his bedside caught up in his tales.

XXXX

"You sure you don't wanna grab some breakfast at my house?" Roy asked as he pulled up in front of John's apartment.

"Nah, but thanks for the offer. I'm fine, really."

"Officer Burke seemed concerned about you. I know you hate guns. Listen, if you need to talk or if you need anything call me. I already told Cap that Brackett signed you off for our next two shifts."

"Okay, thanks, Roy. I'm sorry you got woke up on your day off. I'll call you when I get up, okay?"

Roy smiled as he handed John the paper bag of meds he'd had filled at the hospital pharmacy that his partner had forgotten on the front seat.


	2. Little Green Things

Killing time was impossible, beating it up, maybe. John flicked through the channels on his ninth consecutive day off, finally putting the remote control down with disgust. He hadn't seen an episode of As The World Turns for two years, yet here lay that ridiculous woman in her polyester suit and matching hair band on the polyester couch with that polyester-haired doctor all over her.

"I have your diagnosis for you, sweetheart, you're nuts," John said out loud, quickly turning the T.V. off before he made a habit of talking to the characters on the screen – or worse yet, they answer him back. He yawned and looked around the apartment. He'd vacuumed, his laundry was done, he'd picked up his uniforms from the drycleaners and even dusted. His kitchen would have to wait; his side wouldn't tolerate further bending. He drummed his fingers on the end table in a metronome of monotony.

Robbed of sleep for several nights after what he'd dubbed his 'adventure' to anyone who asked how he was feeling, John's answer was always a firm, convincing _fine. _He and Roy had been shot at before but those shots across an expanse from another building had felt anonymous somehow. Hearing a gun cock four feet from you with a bullet with your name on it in the chamber was different. He'd never told anyone why he hated guns. He never would. He was handling it.

When the doorbell rang, John found himself hurrying to answer like a dog when his owner comes home after a very long day.

"Chet, come on in, man."

"I come bearing gifts," Chet said, handing John a six pack of beer and a rectangular box with plain parcel paper on it.

"Thanks … I think," John grinned in spite of himself. The two sat on the couch and John untied the twine on the box dreading what might be inside but he was sure Roy would have warned Chet against pranks while he was recovering. Inside the box was an identical white button-down shirt that John had lost to injury.

"Don't get all sentimental, I only got it for you because I don't want you wearing that paisley number you wore to that club out in Santa Monica. That thing's so bright it's like a lighthouse to scare girls back out to sea. How are you doin' anyway?"

That was Chet in a nutshell, insult wrapped in prank, wrapped in concern wrapped in parcel paper and tied with twine.

"I'm doin' pretty good. Bored, but good. Listen Chet, thanks for the shirt."

"I didn't buy _you_ a shirt. I bought _me _a shirt for you to wear so I don't get embarrassed, got it? Geesh, I thought we went over this. When Dixie told me she had to throw yours out 'cause of blood I worried … I mean I thought … I mean, you know I hate paisley.

"Ah, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't. Never did."

Chet cracked a beer and pulled the lever on John's lazy boy chair.

There were no contrary indications for alcohol with his meds so John joined Chet in a beer.

"Ask me, Chet. I know you're dyin' to," John said.

"Ask what?" Chet said innocently.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Melanie didn't forgive me for standing her up. The date never happened."

"Yeah – yeah, I heard about that, Roy said she was a real … uh, witch."

When Chet didn't say any more, John perched on the edge of the couch to study his friend's face.

"What – that's it? You're not gonna rib me? _Geeze Gage, you should'a known better than to ask a class act like that out; sit back and watch the phantom work? Nothing?"_

"Don't have to, Johnny boy, you just did it for me," the mustached man gloated as he took a guzzle of his beer, after raising it in mock salute.

"Chet!"

"Now don't be mad, Johnny boy, now that Chet's looking after your wardrobe you'll be fine."

"Gawd help me," John laughed.

"So is it true?" Chet queried.

"Is what true?"

"Does you life flash before your eyes just before you almost die; and if so, was it like a parade of women from your past? And if it was, talk slowly."

John closed his eyes. He would never admit to Chet that having a gun trained on him had shaken him but Chet persisted relentlessly.

"Look, Chester B. It isn't like the movies. Most people who get shot don't survive; Roy and I have attended enough shootings to know that. It's not like I was scared or anything though."

"I would have peed my pants," Chet said bluntly.

And at the moment, the Phantom and the Pigeon were on the same page.

"Thanks, Chet, but no I didn't pee my pants, or on the side of the highway; in fact I didn't think I'd ever pee again I was so scared!"

It felt so good to laugh at whole horrible experience. Chet had done it again, damn him.

Chet's intense gaze was unnerving. John wished he would joke again or else they might have to share feelings or something girly like that.

"Listen, if you want to talk about it, call me, and you know Cap was in the war so he's been on the other end of a gun at one time or another too. I already know Roy's been here a couple'a times because you haven't washed Jo's Tupperware dishes and sent them back and she's threatening an embargo until you do. Roy's gonna pop over for 'em later."

"Oh, yeah, I should wash 'em right now … just with my side hurtin' an' all…"

Chet studied John's face for a minute, evidence of a fierce internal battle going on behind his eyes. His mustache twitched up and down as he searched for something to say.

"I'll wash 'em for you, but don't go gettin' the idea that this will become habit or anything," Chet groused as he headed to the kitchen. "And I'm doing this for Joanne, not you."

John let his hand drop from his side and stifled a chuckle as he followed Chet into the kitchen. As Chet grumbled about greasy tomato and ground beef stains on the plastic containers, John added more dishes to the hot, soapy water and watched with satisfaction as Chet continued to wash absent mindedly as they talked endlessly about women and sports.

John pulled a folded step stool from between the fridge and counter and stifled a gasp as he took a step up.

"No, wait, don't do that, let me," Chet said, rushing over with the warm, soapy cloth at the ready. John sat in a kitchen chair and watched as Chet dusted between the ceiling and the top cabinets.

Chet wiped sweat from his brow as he climbed down from the step ladder.

"Ah man, some of the dust from up there got all over the floor," John lamented as he picked up a mop, one-handed and closed his eyes in a mock grimace.

The mop was pulled gently from his hands and he sat back down.

When John's kitchen gleamed, he hid a smile and handed Chet another beer.

"Thanks, Cindy, I was meaning to do that for ages," John said innocently casting his gaze to a framed depiction from Huckleberry Finn.

"You – no, you didn't," Chet stammered.

"I did, stick around, Chet, my landlady would love the fence whitewashed too," John laughed, holding his side when it flared in pain as if to warn him that he'd gotten his phantom back quite enough for one day.

"Roy … this is all Roy's fault. He told me not to let you do too much. I was just stopping in to give you some fashion tips but he had to go and mention his wife's lasagna; I fell right into it thinking that maybe you would have some left to share with a friend…" Chet trailed off.

John laughed and produced a half tray of Joanne's lasagna and a plate of Stoker's chicken along with Mama Lopez's famous enchiladas.

"Wanna stay for lunch, Chet?" John asked the suddenly better tempered linesman.

"It's the least you can do after I spent an hour Molly-maiding your kitchen."

XXXX

"Oh hey, everyone seems to have brought you food so I'll bring you some of my chili tomorrow," Chet said as he finished up the lunch dishes and prepared to leave.

"Oh no – I mean, no, don't go to any trouble, Chet, I get the stitches out tomorrow and I can … enjoy some of your chili when I get back."

"You got it and I'll scare up that book I bought when Dr. Morton was trying to get us all to eat healthier and make a side dish from that to go with it, it'll be perfect."

"Heaven help us," John mumbled under his breath.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"Um, sounds heavenly. That's what I said. Yeah, heavenly. Listen, Chet, thanks for everything," the paramedic said to Chet's retreating back as he walked down the hallway to leave.

Chet waved vaguely over his shoulder. Soppy moments were not the phantom's thing.

XXXX

John chuckled absently an hour later when he went to his kitchen in search of coffee, his mugs hung ever so carefully on their hooks gleaming beside the cheeky Huck Finn reprint. He reached out and tapped the frame, missing his Smokey The Bear poster back at the station more than he should have in such a short period off. As he sipped the fresh brew and brushed a few stray coffee granules from the countertop his mind drifted to his disastrous almost date but ultimately the images of that day were obscured by a far easier memory.

_You have quite the husband there, Mrs. Timmins_

John grabbed his keys and made his way to his Rover. He gasped as he climbed in, forgetting about his stitches momentarily. In five minutes he sat outside a little flower shop looking at the window displays. The sign above the shop proudly proclaimed fifty years of business.

A bell chimed as John stood in the tiny, arched doorway inhaling the fragrant scents that greeted him before escaping outside to delight passersby. Hardwood floors creaked beneath his running shoes. The aroma of chocolate wafted from a round-topped glass display case and an ancient cash register stood at the ready.

"What can I do for you?" asked a short, balding man wearing a green apron and round glasses perched halfway down his nose.

"Uh …" John honestly couldn't answer. He had no idea what this poor man could do to solve the many love interest problems of John Gage. In fact, he couldn't even remember the drive to the shop.

"I see," said the man clearly undaunted by the lack of answer.

"Had a fight with the misses?"

"No, I…"

"Ticked off a female boss?"

"No, it's just…"

"Stood up a date?"

"Well … y- yeah but that's not…"

"Oh, I see," said the man brightly tapping his head and winking at his thoroughly perplexed customer.

"New love interest, there's only one thing for it, roses," the man said, sticking his short arm halfway into a large vase that sat on the floor and hoisting it onto the counter. Before John could protest that he couldn't possibly afford a dozen roses, the man cut him off as was his way it seemed.

"See, you don't want to scare 'er off with a dozen red roses, too formal and forward for a first … date?"

"No date, just…"

"Ah, okay." And with that the man began to whistle as he gathered a small bunch of white, pink, yellow and red roses, ferns and baby's breath before tying a huge red bow around the lot. He topped it with a small, white card on a long wooden holder and handed John a pen before turning back to prepare a small box of chocolates without asking John which ones he wanted or in fact if he even wanted any.

John cringed before hearing the price of the purchase but it was so reasonable he was left standing with an open mouth and change in his hand as the wooden cash register drawer closed, happy with its cash meal.

"You're vehicle isn't exactly new and I saw the rust on it so I figured a moderate arrangement would be perfect."

"Well, thanks!" John said enthusiastically shaking his hand as the old man chuckled and pushed his glasses back up.

As John exited the store, a man of about nineteen years entered the store muttering under his breath about really screwing up this time.

"Don't worry man; this guy'll take care of ya."

XXXX

John fitted the seat belt across the vase staring at the vague card he'd scrawled. He didn't know her name; she didn't know him so he didn't bother putting it on the card. He could ask Dixie who she was but the mystery seemed more comfortable; safer somehow. He'd ask Dixie to make sure she got them from, 'an admirer.'

John backed his Rover into the E.R. entrance before realizing that he was in his own vehicle. He paused to look into the quiet corridor. It was too early for rush hour accidents and the day crowd had been attended to for the most part. Nurses hurried in and out of rooms with equipment to set up for the daily expected rush.

And there she was … talking to that handsome young doctor, Kent Donaldson who'd ridden along with them to learn a bit of compassion and humbleness. He watched closely, telling himself that when she tucked a bit of stray chestnut hair behind her ear it wasn't the cutest thing he'd ever seen – and certainly not a gesture of flirtation with said handsome doctor.

John reversed and parked in the visitor's parking. He unbuckled the flowers and debated the merits of eating the candy himself; after all, it looked like she was heavily engaged in conversation with someone who'd make a great date … or husband.

_Well, I wasn't gonna put my name on 'em anyway, _John reasoned. She'd been so sweet with the flowers she'd found he figured she deserved some of her own. That was it, it wasn't like he was gonna ask her out. Man how he wished that young doctor was still the brash, braggart he'd met two years earlier. He would have been perfect for Melanie back then.

John bypassed the nurse and Dr. Donaldson with a small nod of hello and made his way to Dixie's desk, thankful that the supervisor was there early.

"Johnny, what can I do for you," Dixie asked, her eyes automatically roving him head to toe out of sheer instinct to look for something wrong.

"Oh, uh, no, nothing. Um, I'd just like to leave these for … her," he whispered.

"Eleanor?" Dixie smiled.

"Yeah … Eleanor," John replied, scrawling her name quickly across the bottom of the card and wishing he'd written _from an admirer_ in pencil so he could erase it.

Eleanor laughed at that moment; oh that Donaldson must be so funny with his little white coat and his little white Porsche and his dad's little … well, huge white yacht out on the bay.

"Dix, please don't tell 'er who they're from. It's just dumb…" John trailed off, leaving the flowers nevertheless. It was seven O'clock; she'd be working with Donaldson all night.

XXXX

John woke at five thirty a.m. with the intention to change his appointment with Dr. Brackett to have his stitches out until he was sure the future Mrs. Kent Donaldson would be finished her twelve hour shift. The severe itch from the healed wound being pulled by the now taut thread ordered him otherwise.

XXXX

John made a conscious effort not to pull into the emergency only entrance. He rarely drove the squad but it still seemed a natural choice.

Dr. Brackett turned his head sleepily, his neck popping in response as Dixie handed him a cup of coffee as she gathered her purse while she gave last minute instructions to the supervisor coming on shift.

The object of John's affections rounded the far corner coming from the lounge wearing a light pink sweater over her uniform. She carried no flowers and John found himself searching the trash can behind the counter with his eyes.

No flowers…

Dr. Donaldson yawned as he strode up to say goodbye.

"John Gage, it's been ages, how're you doing?" Donaldson said sincerely, extending his hand.

Damn him.

"Good, it's real good-everything's-good," John spit out before he could stop himself.

"Glad to hear it, hey maybe I'll call when you're in next to see about another ride-along, I hear those new spanner sleeves have revolutionized things."

Damn him. Had to bring that one up. _That was mine!_

"Ready to go, Eleanor?" Mr. Doctor, I-could'a-been-a-fireman-too asked.

"Yeah, but wait just one more minute, okay?" Eleanor said as she brushed past the young paramedic smiling slightly.

"Dad made me promise to see her to her car after shifts," Kent explained. "Fully grown woman but boy am I glad she's the youngest of the family; you know how controlling dad can be."

Dr. Brackett merely cleared his throat. It was no secret that Dr. Donaldson Senior was used to getting what he wanted.

"Eleanor is your sister?" John asked the suddenly not so snotty doctor.

"Yeah, youngest of four, just finished her internship at Harbor. Dad's happy of course; one son and one daughter doctors and one daughter a nurse. He'll get over the lawyer eventually," Kent Junior chuckled.

Eleanor returned a moment later wearing just one rose bud and a small sprig of baby's breath in her lapel.

"Oh, John Gage, this is my sister Eleanor," Dr. Donaldson said. "He's one of the guys I rode with from the fire department."

"Oh, my brother's back was sore for a week after that," Eleanor laughed, shaking John's hand.

"Elle!" Kent protested.

John grinned at the floor stifling a small laugh.

"It was good to meet you, John Gage. I'm sure I'll see you around again," Eleanor said, following her brother out the doors.

"Kent, you don't have to wait for me; we're not in grade school anymore," John heard Eleanor tell her brother.

"Just until you get to know some people around here at Rampart, Elle," Kent answered, looking back at John with a slight nod.

John rounded on the desk.

"You told," he said to Dixie.

"Nope," Dixie said. "You got caught. Kent saw you leave the flowers. I asked him not to tell Eleanor who they were from."

"Wow, he's come a long way from the puffed up little tool he used to be."

Dr. Brackett nodded, a small smile hidden behind his coffee.

"Nurse Crispin, please set up in four for suture extraction," Brackett asked someone behind John.

John turned around.

"No!" he said out loud before his cheeks colored and he stuttered, "I – I mean, geez I'm a paramedic for Pete's sake, I can hand you whatever you need."

Melanie did not look amused but then again she never did.

Dixie placed her purse back under the counter.

"Oh, Kel, I just remembered, I didn't give you that recipe you wanted, it's very simple, why don't I just explain it to you while I assist you before I go home."

Brackett looked about to protest. He knew night shifts were tough and didn't want Dixie getting overtired, after all, after his shift today, he was heading to her place for the very dish she was about to give him the recipe for…

Dixie rolled her eyes. Men. They never got it. John stared into her blue eyes silently pleading for her to save him.

"Miss Crispin, please collect the bedpans in observation three, four and five," Ms. McCall told the young nurse whose nose was turned up as if she could smell the contents of the bedpans already.

"Johnny, room four. Now," Dixie said, tying her hair back into a loose ponytail and washing her hands in the sink at the station.

Johnny didn't need telling twice. He sped into treatment four narrowly escaping the daggers shot at him by Melanie. He sat wearily on the edge of the gurney, wiping his brow.

"Shirt, Johnny," Dixie reminded him gently as the door closed.

John took his shirt off and continued to sit there. Dixie put her hand on his shoulder to guide him down understanding why he was so preoccupied.

"There's no recipe, is there, Dix?"

"Only for disaster," Dixie said mischievously, smiling at Dr. Brackett's turned back as he prepared his own equipment.

"Thanks," John whispered gratefully, his voice rising in pitch as she gently tucked a sheet into the waistband of his jeans before applying an antiseptic.

"You're entirely welcome," Dixie said kindly.

XXXX

John sucked in his breath as his stitches were removed. It didn't so much hurt; more pressure than anything on the tender skin. John squirmed a bit as Dixie's eyes roved over the small, old scar just above his left hip bone. Dr. Brackett and Nurse McCall knew only the medical details of the bullet wound John received when he was fifteen; it was noted in his charts from his past. Kelly and Dixie, his friends however knew nothing of the story behind it.

"Good as new," Brackett proclaimed as he cleaned the wound. "I doubt your old scar will have a twin. You should be fit for your next shift. I'll fill out the forms for your HQ. Stop by my office in twenty minutes for them."

"Good deal," John said, sitting up quickly and donning his shirt as fast as he could. Dixie had looked dangerously close to asking him about that scar.

John buttoned his shirt and made his way out into the hall but instead of going straight to the desk or to wait by Brackett's office, he turned left. Trying not to intrude too much he peered into a couple of rooms on his way. Small bud vases or plastic drinking containers adorned several patients' bedside tables, a single rose in each.

She kept one for herself.

John peered into one more room. An open box of sweets lay on the bedside table, three chocolates missing. A little girl of about six was having a smudge of chocolate cleaned from her lips.

"Excuse me," a lady said to John who was in the way of the door.

"Frank, look, she's eaten something, I mean it's only chocolate but it's a start," the lady exclaimed before pushing the door open.

John remembered the girl just then. He and Roy had brought her in two weeks prior with extreme anemia; the diagnosis was leukemia. Her worst enemy through treatment was weight loss and doctors were hoping something would trigger her appetite. Maybe she would at least drink some chocolate nutrition drinks or something John hoped now that she had a taste for chocolate.

XXXX

John's experience in love was that if something seemed too good to be true, it was. He drove to the little flower shop and opened the door to the jingle of the bell. His head almost touched the top of the doorframe and though his shoulders were slender his frame filled the doorway. People were shorter and smaller when this building was built but the proprietor fit right in.

"Carnations are lovely, hardy flowers, enduring," the little man greeted John even as he stuck his hand into a medium vase and plucked it from the floor to sit upright on the desk.

"Wait a minute, how did you..."

"Your baseball cap smells of smoke, you wear it after shift as a fireman or a junk man at an incineration facility until you can get home and shower. Your skin's not weathered so you're not outdoors all day sorting junk so that leaves the fire department if I'm not much wrong. You can't afford roses twice in as many days."

"You're in the wrong business," John gaped. "You're better than Colombo or Sherlock Holmes."

"The nose knows," the man smiled, tapping his largish nostrils. "I have to be able to tell if a shipment of mums is moldy or daisies dank."

"Y-yeah, I can see where that would be useful but how did'ja know about … everything else?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson," the man chuckled as he arranged a baker's dozen of carnations into the vase, each with individual little white bows on them.

"Delivery to where?" the proprietor asked.

"Um, I was just gonna…"

"Delivery is free and really, if you're going to persist in the secret admirer thing, you're being pretty obvious."

John blurted out Rampart's address and set the date of delivery for his next day back on shift after calling Dixie to make sure Eleanor was going to be on shift as well.

"Oh, young man, take this aloe plant, break off a section of it every night and apply it to what ails ya. It won't cure old wounds but it prevents new ones from scarring; the only thing that'll cure old wounds is time … and talkin'."

John opened and closed his mouth a few times feeling like the doorway was shrinking.

"You're leanin' a bit to the right, every time you want to look at somethin' on the floor, you suck in your breath and bend yer knees but you never bend forward. And … I smelled disinfectant on you every time you've been here," the old man said, tapping his nose once more.

John took the aloe plant and left the shop without a word. He'd wanted to say thanks, either that or run screaming into the street. The man hadn't actually scared him but the way he looked at him was if he could see right through him.

XXXX

On his first day back to work after several minor calls, John walked the hallways of Rampart on a supply run and sure enough, the carnations found their way into the rooms and hearts of patients and Eleanor found her way into John's heart even more but the real test would come if he could somehow be there when she left shift.

XXXX

By some miracle … or rather, minor mishap, Roy and John found themselves at Rampart at shift change. John lingered, pressing four by four gauze to his palm while Roy held an icepack to his own forehead where a fairly big goose egg was forming. The two sipped coffee while waiting for an available doctor.

John heard her before he saw her. He closed his eyes. This would be the moment. He opened his eyes and dared to look at her lapel. She wore a blue sweater this time, a small, white striped carnation pushed through the buttonhole. She didn't need roses, she was perfectly happy with carnations.

"Johnny, what happened to you guys?" Eleanor asked as she peaked under Roy's icepack and then under Johnny's gauze.

"A miracle!" John stated before he could stifle himself by pressing his damaged hand to his mouth.

Roy gaped at his younger partner. Getting a goose egg from a carton of hardhats falling from an overturned transport truck was an exercise in irony he'd sooner forget and certainly was no miracle!

"We were answering to a multi-vehicle pileup involving a transport truck full of safety gear and a kitchen supply store van and several other cars. It was a nasty scene but somehow no one was hurt. By the time we'd made our rounds to everyone involved there was nothing left to do but clean up the scene. I went over to help our linesman, Chet move some boxes off the highway when a crate of … hardhats fell and somehow knocked my own helmet right off me. John here cut his hand on a box of knives that had somehow come out of their sheathes," Roy explained.

Roy looked to his partner to begin ranting about what a bad day it had turned out to be but to his annoyance all he got in support of his opinion was a lopsided grin.

His hand was in hers. The reason didn't matter at all at the moment.

"Well this doesn't look so bad. Why don't you both come on into treatment two and I'll call Dr. Early."

Roy waited for John to protest that he didn't need to be seen; a bit of ice and a bandage would be fine, thanks.

"A'right, come on Roy, treatment two," John said, staring at the hand that Eleanor had touched as he walked into the room.

"Oh brother," muttered Roy under his breath.

XXXX

"No signs of concussion, Roy, but I'd say it's five to one hardhats versus helmets," Dr. Early smiled. "Come on back in if you feel any dizziness or lightheadedness."

"Will do, Doc," Roy answered while Eleanor readied a suture tray for John's hand.

On some level, Roy felt sorry for his partner. What a dilemma to be John Gage right now. If Dixie were here setting things up, John would be slightly pouty and put out but now here he sat feigning stoicism in front of Eleanor while the tender part of his palm was frozen by two injections.

"That's an interesting flower," Roy told Eleanor just as Early stuck the second needle in.

John sucked in his retort of pain to listen to her reply and Roy was rewarded with a thankful smile from his partner.

"Dianthis Caryophyllus, better known as the Carnation," Eleanor replied.

John ignored Early's pain response tests, signaling to the doctor that his patient was ready to be stitched.

"Striped ones symbolize regret that a love cannot be shared," Eleanor said with a smile on her lips.

"Oh…" came out of John's mouth before he could stop himself.

Roy stared at his friend while shaking his head. "Yeah, I read that somewhere," Roy said absently as though he didn't remember the week he'd spent looking after a very pretty victim's houseplants.

_Yeah, Pally, it's a good thing you knew __that __love couldn't be returned, _John thought to himself._ Joanne and the kids are the best thing that ever happened to you._

Eleanor laughed. "Yeah, well, that must be true because these … I mean this, was left by someone who didn't leave their name."

"But there were other colors there that must've meant something else, too – I mean, I assume – right?" Johnny spluttered as Dr. Early steadied his hand with a warning look. John had almost raised his arm to gesture.

Roy buried his head in his sleeve feigning tiredness. Could this be any more painful to watch?

"All done," Early announced. "Your tendons were spared, you were lucky, just a flesh wound as they say in that new movie. You're going on three days off, three on, right … so, you'll miss three shifts."

"Y- yeah, I guess-o," John mumbled miserably.

Dr. Early proceeded to wind copious amounts of white gauze around the dark haired paramedic's hand, leaving just his fingertips sticking out.

"Why?" John asked in false patience.

"To remind you to take it easy with that hand. The tendons were spared from being severed, I didn't say that wasn't gonna throb like that vein in Dr. Brackett's forehead when he's angry," Dr. Early laughed.

"Take care, Johnny, Roy," Eleanor said as she gathered up the empty syringe packets and refuse.

Johnny waved to her on the way out of treatment two. He held his huge, white hand out in front of his face.

"Ah, cheer up, Junior, at least you didn't have to take your shirt off and have Morton and that pretty nurse in there at the same time," Roy reminded his partner which seemed to cheer him considerably.

"And at least you didn't need skull X-rays, I know how embarrassing it is when they have to widen the scopes to accommodate your huge melon," John said, bumping shoulders with his friend amicably.

Roy was quiet as they made their way back to the squad. Shift was over in fifteen minutes.

"I should get some flowers delivered to Jo," Roy said. "It's been ages, I just never thought about it until Eleanor talked about them. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do and I'll have them throw together a little bouquet of sunflowers for Jenny too; she'll feed 'em to the birds but it's the thought that counts, right?"

XXXX

By the time Roy and John got back to the station, the B shift was waiting on the squad's return. Roy was rubbing his temples, his goose egg making itself more known from the sun in his eyes on the drive back.

"Listen, Pally, just tell me what you want to order for Jo and I'll order 'em for you. You look beat. You sure you're okay to drive?" John asked his friend.

"Yeah, just wasted, been a long day. You okay to drive?" Roy asked.

"He left my fingertips out, it's legal," John pointed out. "I'm only gonna swing by the flower shop on my way home and catch some sleep."

"Hey, Riff and Raff, if either of you needs a ride home, now's the time, my luxury automobile is right outside," Chet offered.

"Are you kiddin' me, I'm not gettin' in that jalopy, I just got a new tetanus shot and I'm not eager for another," Johnny said. "But seriously, Chet thanks anyway, I guess we're fine."

XXXX

The tiny bell over the flower shop window jingled merrily, a red bow and a sprig of mistletoe added to it as November bowed to December, the grandfathers of the year.

"What flowers say, _will you please go out with me even though I'm an idiot_?"

"Flowers don't talk, son."

_All the talk on the commercials; 'say it with flowers' and 'diamonds are a girl's best friend' and all that garbage, _n_ow this guy picks a time to be practical? When I need a miracle? Like talking flowers?_

"That is to say, they don't speak any language we can master. They speak of love, triumph, condolence, congratulations, victory…"

"… How about just plain and simple, wanna go out with me?"

"Well why didn't you say so?"

"I did…"

"Okay, now what you want to do is, just mosey around this place and pick up a few flowers in your hands … um, hand," the man corrected taking in the bandaged up appendage. "Put 'em together until they look right to you and I'll arrange 'em."

John grumbled under his breath wondering if he was due a discount for doing the man's job. As he grumbled and fretted about the nearly hundred percent chance of failure, he pricked his fingers several times on flowers that hadn't been de-thorned yet and soon found himself using his nose more and more before reaching out and just grabbing anything that looked pretty. _Hm, maybe I should be more careful in the way I pick dates too_, he thought as he sucked on his index finger. _Every rose has its thorn…_

The man's look of patience and appraisal unsettled him but he sniffed on. He could have sworn the man let out a muffled whoop of joy when he chose a flower that was already in a container surrounded by what appeared to be small trees similar to those that he loved so much in the wild.

"Bonsai surrounded by Kusamono and shitakusa," the proprietor said.

John didn't know whether to say bless you for the sneeze or admonish the man for swearing. He just stood there holding the pot out to be wrapped. The man took the pot and wrapped it in shiny tissue paper and tied a bow on it.

"Thanks." _I think_, John thought as he turned to leave.

"You're very welcome," the man smiled. "It's about time, too."

The little bell chimed for the second time and for some reason the sound made John turn back into the store.

"What can I do for you?" the man asked as if John hadn't just made his purchase.

"Um, I better uh, get some more flowers … 'cause she can't really give these away easily."

The man didn't ask for an explanation. John didn't give one. Instead he watched in amazement as the man slipped plastic tubes filled with water on each and every flower and wrapped them individually in green and red tissue. John reached into his pocket.

"Tell her Merry Christmas," he said, folding John's hand back around his wallet before he could produce any more money.

"Oh, I almost forgot, I need two more orders," John said, unfolding a note Roy had written. It was testament to how tired Roy must have been. His normally tidy scrawl was nearly illegible. The man reached for the note and John handed it to him with an apologetic shrug.

"Very good," the man said busying himself with the order while his customer stared in surprise. Soon a bunch of roses mixed with exotic flowers overflowed the top of a crystal vase John was sure Roy couldn't afford. Six huge sunflowers smiled up from a round terracotta container wrapped in yellow ribbon. The man smiled as if amused by something he wasn't sharing.

"Enduring, eternal, yes," the man said, sounding very much like Yoda and somehow making John feel very safe, not that he ever really doubted his friend's devotion to his wife but he'd seen many marriages fall apart within the fire department. It was a hard job and it took a special relationship to survive it. Roy and Jo would be one of those special relationships.

John fished in his wallet for extra cash he knew he'd need to supplement what Roy had given him. The crystal vase was nice and Jo deserved it. The man accepted Roy's cash and handed back the money John had added to it telling his now thoroughly perplexed customer that the vase was on drastic discount today only. He scrawled Roy's address down on a piece of paper and once again John was happy that the man could read Roy's note because he had no idea what Roy's address was still even though he'd vowed to make note of it the next time he was there.

"Three O'clock delivery to the Desoto residence?" the man asked.

"Yeah, that'd be perfect, my partner will be up by then and that's when Jen's school bus arrives home."

The man winked as he produced a Hot Wheels car from the dusty roll-top desk beside the cash register, scrawled a message on a card and slipped it into the delivery carton. John made his way to the door where the bell chimed for the third time that day. Something told him not to turn around as he called his greeting back over his shoulder.

XXXX

John carried the bonsai tree surrounded by Kusamono and shitakusa in his good hand and the other flowers he'd purchased under his arms, grateful that they were supported by paper. He plucked up his courage and approached Eleanor who was filling out some last shift paperwork in a quiet-for-once emergency department.

"Hi, Eleanor, I uh, wanted to say thanks for you know, helping Doctor Early with my stitches and my partner's head," John said, handing over the plant.

Eleanor reminded John that she was doing her job but blushed just a bit John thought.

"Oh, a little grass thing," Eleanor said as she peeled off the festive Christmas tissue.

And John thought it was a good thing he was in the E.R. because someone had just let the wind out of his sails. It was Melanie's road flower comment all over again.

"Kusamono means little grass thing," Eleanor beamed. "Thanks I just love this. It's like a mini break when you can't get outdoors and everything's crazy. And the little trees remind me of the ones up in the mountains … You must think I'm a nerd. Dad made my sister and I study botany so we'd sound intelligent during mother's garden parties … just, I like big, natural gardens, like say, national parks and not just roses and hyacinths and all that."

So little grass thing was a good thing … cool!

"Uh, yeah, I like the parks too. I go hiking and fishing whenever I can," John said, heartened by her words as he tried in vain to sweep the offending roses and hyacinths under his arm again.

"I love roses and all that too, any flowers or plants really," Eleanor clarified as she swore to herself that the paramedic had just blushed.

"Um, these are for you … well, no, they're not. I've seen what you do with 'em … not that I've been stalking you or anything, swear!"

"Oh, so it _was_ you who sent the other flowers?"

"Guilty. I'm sorry I didn't put my name on them, just I saw you take those flowers a couple 'a weeks ago around to the patients and Mr. and Mrs. Timmins are a real sweet couple, been together for fifty years and it was their anniversary when we brought 'em in from that house fire. Mrs Timmins forgot the candles burning on the dining room table. Bet you made both of their days … again, I'm not stalking you, and listen I better get going, you're working and I'm…"

"…Very sweet, thank you. Listen, would you mind telling me where you found this bonsai and Kusamono? If I get one for my mother for Christmas it'll restore her faith that I haven't forgotten everything about botany. She hasn't exactly invited me to any garden parties since I graduated nursing college but my lawyer brother got invited to a fundraiser she's throwing so there's hope for me yet," Eleanor said with a bit of dejection in her voice.

_She called me sweet! Sweet!_ was all John got from that entire sentence until the words processed.

Eleanor passed John the pen she was writing with and turned to place some files from the desk back into drawers behind her.

John poised the pen and then remembered something … or rather didn't remember something - the address of the flower shop. He'd just found it while driving. It made him think of all the places he went, and once again he thought of Roy's house; he drove there often but had no idea of his actual address. How embarrassing!

"Um, see the thing is … I don't remember the address."

But then a brilliant idea struck him, one that the Grinch or Melanie herself could not ruin.

"I know where it is. Listen, do you think that maybe tomorrow I could pick you up and go with you there and then maybe we could have lunch?"

It was perfect, lunch, not dinner and dancing; if it worked out, great, if not he didn't have to explain to Chet or anyone else how a date failed. It wasn't a date, it was shopping. Everyone needs to shop.

"I'd like that," Eleanor said before gathering some sheets from a linen closet and walking toward a treatment room. "Eleven O'clock okay?"

"Perfect…"

Eleanor called out her address and John cringed. She must live with her parents because no new nurse could afford a house in that district. He wrote the information down and already felt the stomach acid in preparation of meeting her parents. He hadn't met a girl's parents since high school and it was never good.

XXXX

John pulled up and around the circular driveway, one palm sweaty with anticipation and nerves, the other, ensconced in gauze. His Rover seemed out of place with the expensive cars parked in the open garage. He rung the bell and felt like running away.

The etched glass insert in the oak doors threw a rainbow of color into his eyes as a woman dressed in a fussy, navy blue business suit with a frilly white blouse opened the door.

"Come in, we've been expecting you. Our son, Kent has told us so much about you. I'm Mrs. Donaldson, you can call me Colleen."

John hoped Kent had told his parents only the good parts of his time with the paramedics. When Colleen extended her hand when he didn't step inside, he knew he had.

"Come in, we don't bite, dear," she said, taking his right hand gingerly and leading him to a large, leather wingback chair.

"Elle, your date is here," she called upstairs.

_Date? Nononono, don't jinx it; _John begged silently hoping that Eleanor hadn't heard that.

"Be right down," Eleanor called down.

XXXX

The chime sounded different today as John and Eleanor stepped into the shop; quieter somehow but sufficient to announce the guests to the store. A plump woman in her fifties greeted the customers as she wrapped an armful of lilies sprayed with silver metallic snow. John was still trying to figure out how things had gone so smoothly with Eleanor's parents. Perhaps Murphy* had gone to pick on someone else?

"Good morning, how can I help you?" she smiled as she pushed up her glasses in such a familiar way it made the paramedic tremble slightly.

He'd never been asked what he wanted in this store before. It had always been known. He looked around in search of the old man whom he would thank in private for all his help. He wasn't there. Impossible. John didn't know why he thought so.

Recovering from his temporary rudeness, John found his voice. "Um, yes, sorry, uh, we'd like to see the bonsais with the Kusomono and shitakusa, please." He stumbled over the words hoping he'd said them right."

"Oh, yes, of course," the lady said sounding very delighted. "My father started stocking these last year before he passed away and they've been very popular. It's not often we have people come in asking for them, though, they just usually happen upon them, like them and buy them."

Eleanor stared in amazement at the health and variety of bonsais and the shop clerk made her way back to the counter to continue her work. John followed her before he could stop himself.

"Um, maybe you can help me, I was in here yesterday buying some bonsai surrounded by … little green things," John stammered forgetting the proper name for Kusamono temporarily.

"But that's impossible," the lady told him, lowering her glasses to study him as if to make sure he was feeling quite alright. "You see, we were closed for a few weeks until today. Our refrigerators were out being serviced and we had no fresh stock so my husband and I took the grandchildren to the beach. No one was here yesterday."

John spied a newspaper clipping in a glass frame on the wall. The yellowed paper showed a photo of...

"Um, who's that in the photo?" John blurted out.

"That's a picture of my father, the original owner of this flower shop; people said he was an angel, saved marriages, mended hearts, lifted sprits," the clerk said proudly. As she picked up the photo to hand to him for closer inspection, a small bell clanked loudly to the floor.

"He did…"

"Are you alright, Johnny?" Eleanor asked as she strode up holding a bonsai arrangement in a small, stone basin.

The clerk fiddled with the small bell she'd retrieved from the floor in wonder … the chime was familiar.

The clerk wiped a small tear from her eye and headed to the front of the shop where she easily reached up to replace the new bell with the original. "This bell hasn't chimed since…"

"Yesterday …" John finished her sentence quietly.

"Johnny?" Eleanor called sounding a bit anxious.

"I'm … I'm fine."

The clerk returned to finalize the purchase and give some tips on how to care for it until its presentation as a Christmas gift. She sniffled and looked up at the bell several times as she spoke, a smile mixing perfectly with her slightly newly nasal tone.

"I knew it," the clerk whispered opening the register and caressing the tray of coins and bills. "I forgot the float and there was the perfect amount in the register this morning … thanks dad …"

"Sorry, didn't catch that?" Eleanor said.

"Oh, um, I knew that these would catch on," the clerk smiled back.

"They're beautiful," Eleanor agreed while the unusually quiet John Gage stared between the photo of the man who wasn't there to the miraculously repaired bell on the door.

John carried Eleanor's purchases out to the truck as they decided where to eat lunch. No matter what happened; be Eleanor friend or girlfriend in the future … or more, it was a good day.

… For when a bell chimes an angel gets his wings.

XXXX

Sorry for the delay in posting. Our beloved fourteen year old beagle/shepherd cross passed away just before Christmas and my heart wasn't in writing. My son took it hard. Three days later he asked if we could take him to the SPCA to visit the dogs there. I couldn't go, just couldn't so he and his dad went. When they didn't return home for three hours, I knew they weren't coming home empty handed. We now have Molly, a five year old female who was found starving and abandoned with five puppies. Her pups all found homes, it's easier sometimes for the pups but my son fell in love with her when she walked by after a bath on her way back to her pen. I was so proud of him for picking her, he saw her beauty despite her frailty. When he called to her she came to him and looked him right in the eyes. My husband said my son sat down on the floor and Molly just sat down right next to him and put her head in his lap. I'm happy to report that she's a wonderful, lucky dog now, she's put on twenty pounds since we've had her already and is still way too skinny but she's going to be okay. We are told she has hound, shepherd and somewhere in her roots, great dane. She's tall and gangly, goofy and funny but so well tempered and great around the house. She will not replace Milo but that isn't her job, and nor will we replace her pups but we'll be family. She's awesome. There's a few other life's bumps as well going on but writing is a great escape and reading stories here at fanfic also is a great getaway. Happy new year everyone, may it be filled with love and happiness.


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